Tag: sarah peck

The masks we wear–how we hide who we are.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

We all wear masks from time to time: in our words, our habits, and our practices. We have an arsenal of crutches and shortcuts that slowly but surely hide who we are. They are things that prop us up and help us hide. We hide from our feelings and our desires. We hide from who we might become.

We drink coffee as a mask for how tired we are, or to replace what is really a lack of motivation for a certain project we’re involved in.

It masks how tired you are of caring for a newborn infant, or how miserable your boss’s cutting remarks make you.

The alcohol that you drink at night masks the fear and the stress feel from not having control during your day. Perhaps it helps to cover up the loneliness of your cubicle or help you get  through another night.

We project false smiles of protection to hide our fears, to be desirable. We wear high heels and new clothes and carry certain bags and advertisements to show a sense of self, a projection, an idea. We use extroversion to be well liked. We chase busy to mask our fear of not leaving an impact.

We cover a lot of things up. Scars we carry, stories we hold, work we’re afraid of doing.

Our selves, deep inside.

It’s not always bad to have a mask…

It’s not terrible to have masks, but they can’t be our only way of dealing with the world. If we spend the entire time warding off the world and hiding from ourselves, we’ll miss the best parts. By hiding from the world, we hide ourselves, and we lose a piece of our souls.

Many of us have lost touch with ourselves, our souls, with the tender, tired, scared part of itself.

Here’s the catch…

Releasing a mask requires feeling. It requires having a real, honest, scary, less-than-desirable feeling. Letting go of your mask means you might need to say,

By golly, I’m tired.

And no, I don’t want to do this.

Or, I’m scared. I’m scared of messing up. I’m scared of doing a bad job. I’m worried that I won’t be liked. I’m worried that I might try and I won’t be good at it.

Letting the barrier down requires Guts. Honesty. Softness.

Looking at the impulse before we rush to snatch a cover, and breathing in recognition:

Your feelings are clues.

These feelings inside? They aren’t enemies. They are clues. Feelings are way points in an uncertain world, direction markers that guide us back into the brilliance of ourselves, if we’ll allow it. The trouble is it can be uncomfortable and downright painful. Feelings you haven’t had in years might surface to remind you of areas of internal work you still have to do.

And your masks were protection, once.

The masks aren’t all bad. Sometimes pulling down the mask and showing your face requires gentleness and slowness. Your mask might have served you at some point. A therapist in my yoga training reminded me that these coping mechanisms shouldn’t always be disarmed quickly. Children of abuse who learned how to harden and deaden their senses built masks in order to survive those times. These mechanisms and masks were useful–they helped you survive. They got you here. They protected. Unlocking them too quickly without new ways of being can also be damaging.

But at some point, perhaps you might notice you’re still wearing one.

What masks are you wearing?

What masks do you carry?

What do you hide?

Can you lower it for a bit?

With love,

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Looking for a place of love and kindness? Join our upcoming Grace & Gratitude micro-workshop, a two-week journey to cultivate grace and gratitude in your life. Two weeks of daily stories and exercises designed to bring light, love, and joy into your life–one photograph, project, and quote at a time. Sign up here (or give as a gift this holiday). We begin December 1. 

Winter workshop: cultivating gratitude, opening to grace. Begins December 1. Join us.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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Crack.

That moment, when your heart swells in open with thanks.

When a stranger sends you a smile and a whisper.

The unexpected brush of a hand against yours. 

The warmth of the subway air after a walk through frozen city streets. A free coffee from the barista. When a taxi driver waves you forward and lets you ride for free. Waking up a few minutes before your alarm and snuggling under the covers for those unexpected moments while you watch the sun rise. Peeling back the curtains. Holding the door for an eighty-year old woman. Letting someone else take the elevator first. Pausing.

What does it mean to cultivate gratitude?

Realizing that the world around us is far larger than the space of our thoughts. Noticing how much there is to be thankful for. Finding thanks even within the darkest, hardest times. Holding yourself and your community to the highest integrity. Bringing warm soup to strangers. Baking bread for the homeless. Giving your birthday away. Being gentle with yourself.

What does it mean to open to grace?

Grace and gratitude are paramount to building a soft heart, an open mind, and a willing vulnerability.

In the midst of a hard world and in between the demands of your daily life, it can be easy to forget. To forget how important it is to remember the bigger picture. What it’s all about. Why you’re here. What we’re really doing.

It’s a whisper inside of your soul, a reminder.

Join the new digital course: bring more Grace + Gratitude into your life.

This winter, during the holiday season, we’re opening a two-week micro workshop focused on cultivating gratitude  and opening to grace.

It begins December 1.

Two weeks of joy-delivered bundles and stunning exercises (with pages for your own reflection) delivered to your mailbox.

A breath of fresh air.

A sigh of thanks, of gratitude for being here. Being you. Right now. Where you are. Exactly as you are.

PS: It’s a micro-course. Only 2 weeks. And only $75. And only $100 if you buy want two spots. My winter gift.

Read all about the program here (or look up in the menu bar–it’s got a whole page). Sign up here.

You’ll get to learn specific exercises and tools that some of my favorite people use to cultivate a sense of wonder, awe, and joy within their every day lives.

Give yourself the gift of practicing joy. Of building gratitude.Of stepping into small reasons to remember what the holidays are really all about.

What it’s really all about.

And in the spirit of gratitude:  buy one, give one.

In the spirit of gratitude, you can sign up for the workshop for yourself, or you can buy one for you and gift one to a friend. If you want to buy an extra spot as a gift forward anonymously, write “GIFT SPACE” in the email line and I’ll save the spots for people who might be struggling this winter but would love to take the course.

Looking forward to sharing this with you.

With gratitude and thanks for you, exactly as you are.

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The Bali journey: in photographs.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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I’m a little bit at a loss for words.

I’m back from Bali, landing back in the USA after a flight pulled me 13 hours backwards in time, depositing me into the winter hemisphere. While I was gone, our city decorated the streets of Brooklyn with holiday lights, and folks have pulled out their hats and gloves to stay warm.

And my mind is still on Bali time…

I’m back, but slowly–back onto the internet, back after nearly three weeks of detoxification; back having had time to rest, back after a long, winding, deep period of inner emotional and spiritual work. For ten days I left the world of coffee, wine, alcohol, sugar, meat, dairy, cooked food, work, the internet, and technology (exceptions: phone as camera and kindle book, and of course the things that are technology from other generations). Before I left, I had started building a course called “Gratitude and Grace,” a two week micro-workshop that begins December 1st. It’s clear now more than ever that this is an important and beautiful project, and I’m excited to be putting the details on it this coming week (as well as writing more, much more, about Bali). There will be many stories, and many adventures to follow. There will be an invitation to join me on the Gratitude and Grace journey.

In the winter I wake up, early to rise, early to greet the sun. Hello, world. 

And today, as I ease back into writing, to talking, and to the working world, I’ll start with photographs of the Bali journey. The photographs make it glossy, shiny, sweet and surreal, but they capture a glimpse. The real trip was raw, messy, emotional, deep, dark, and light. I’ll go inside of it in good time, and the reverberations are already present within every moment, every cell, every day.

I’ll carry this inside, outside, through the heightened awareness of how interconnected we all are. You and me, we’ve got the strum beat of the universe inside of us; we’re connected by the threaded pulses of our heartbeats. Everything I do touches you, and you me. The ocean breathes and sighs, swallows and crashes; it too, dances to the vibrations. Here we go…

With gratitude and thankfulness swelled up in my heart,

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Arrival into Ubud:

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The skinny streets:

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My shared home for the retreat:

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Running through rice fields in the morning:

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Rice paddies:

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Another stunning morning sunrise with volcanoes in the distance:

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Every day, the rice fields changed–some cut down, some flooded, some grew–it was the same, but new:

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The infamous Bali dogs:

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Traveling up to Gunung Kawi temple, viewing the rice paddies:

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The jungle abounds:

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Gunung Kawi Temple:

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Water purification, bliss in the heat (and soul):

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Several of the lovely people who joined in this journey:

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Yoga, every day, often in the rice fields:

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More yoga, balanced between two (wet!) rice fields.

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The North coast (Tejakula)–the last two days there I spent quietly by the sea:

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Let yourself dance, let your voice speak. Sing, from the soul. Start with a whisper. Feel the sound of your breath and the touch of your body. You’re here, you’re supposed to be here. 

The trip was incredible. I’m so thankful. More soon.

Finding your creative flow: 17 writer’s tricks to get un-stuck and start creating

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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I wrung my hands, trying to figure out what to write next. It was a typical afternoon at the computer: Somehow I had amassed more browser tabs than laundry quarters, each of which was threatening to pull me into an endless loop of reading more things on the internet — all conspiring to collect as a massive wave of procrastination in the way of writing the essay in front of me. I closed all the browser tabs. I sighed. Why was I stuck again? Why couldn’t I just WRITE this thing?

While procrastination and distraction are two of the biggest weapons against making your art, the third hurdle to jump is often the problem of getting stuck.

When you’re stuck, you can’t find the right words, time passes endlessly, and you wish fervently for that flow — that moment when words come quickly, your thoughts spill out, and you’re itching to write more. Yet sometimes even when I return to the white page of my blank screen, I get stuck. My thoughts grind to a halt, and I’m not sure where to turn next.

What do you do to get back in creative flow and get un-stuck? As a writer and creative, these are the tools I return to again and again to get myself back into the writing space and find my creative flow.

Start with predictable statements. 

Blank pages, as a writer, can feel demonizing and cruel in their blankness. Sometimes I need to write anything down just to get started. Ray Bradbury found, after several years of writing, that word association was a powerful way for him to start. CARNIVAL, he would write in big capital letters. DANDELIONS. The project continued, each word unfolding into a paragraph and a study, his obsession with these strange, everyday elements turning into prize-winning stories. His word associations turned into explorations of the attic — finding the nooks and crannies in his mind, and chasing what he found both exciting and weird.

Write the banal. Start with where you are. Sometimes it’s garbage, and sometimes the simplest statements are powerful, raw, and beautiful.

Recount your day.

Often writers begin with “throwaway text” that they use to warm up. Summarize your day. Tell the story of where you are, what you’ve been doing, and what you’re trying to do. Even when crafting, I often write out a page of blank notes that describes the type of project and fill pages with sketches of the thing I want to make.

Get specific.

We often get stuck because we’re trying to tackle too much. An entire essay can take me days and weeks — or longer — so today, I focus on one paragraph. Just on one piece. In writing a story about two characters, I begin with the scene, coloring in the frames and spaces with more and more detail. I might spend an entire hour polishing the color and frame of the street lamp and the sidewalks, capturing the changing weather patterns as the seasons move into fall, describing the slippery stoop and broken stairs that the woman calls home. Get specific about one small piece of your project, and focus on that first.

React.

Peruse articles until you find one that stirs up your emotion in some way. Set a kitchen timer if you’re prone to getting lost in browsing, or set up a system that lets you read for a limited time. Browse and jot down notes about what you click on, and what pulls you. Observe that emotion. Find an article that makes you mad or enthusiastic enough to want to write a response. Begin by writing that response.

Mine your conversations for clues.

Often, my essays evolve from comment threads, email chains, and conversations that lead to longer and longer pieces. A comment turns into a paragraph. A paragraph turns into a page. A page turns into an essay. When people ask me questions and I know the answer to them — and I jump in, with lots of ideas and things to say — I’ve learned to become aware of these as golden nugget opportunities for future essays.

Go analog. Slow down.

By pulling out a pen and paper, clearing the table, and simplifying, we can slow down to capture our thoughts and ideas. Slowing down helps us pay attention. As Gwendolyn Bounds writes in the Wall Street Journal, handwriting trains the brain, and slowing down to write by hand helps us learn, convert to memory, and explore new ideas. “It turns out there is something really important about manually manipulating out two-dimensional things we see all the time,” explains Karin Harman James. Using our hands — and crafting physical works, even written works — unlocks new spaces and ideas.

“I write not just to record what I already know, but to discover what’s in my mind.”

Clean.

A cluttered mind can often be the result of a messy situation. Set a kitchen timer for 20 minutes or fewer and give yourself permission to clean and sort. The process of using my hands to clean, sort, and organize often unlocks powerful thoughts in my brain. Doing the dishes is meditative at times. Forcing myself to fold laundry can slow my brain down long enough to catch the thoughts that drift in after I release the pressure to perform.

Set deadlines and use timers.

I’m a big fan of the Pomodoro Technique and kitchen timers. Sometimes less time and more urgency can push us over the edge into massive creation, stimulating our brains with a sense of urgency. I’ll sit and write for one hour, making a bit of a game out of my essays. “Alright, it’s 10AM. Can I get the first complete draft of this done by 11AM? Let’s see if I can get 700 words and a structure all put together by then. Ready? Go!”

Release the negative harnesses.

Ever feel like you’ve got someone watching over your shoulder, breathing down your neck to make sure everything is perfectly done and correct? As best as you can, remind yourself that you are allowed to stumble and stutter, that your writing does not have to be (and likely will not be) perfect the first time around, and that messiness is part of the process.

When the critic comes, which she does predictably for me, observe her. Watch the thoughts pile up, and write them all down. Say to your critic, “Thanks for all of this, I know you’re trying to have my back. I’ll keep these criticisms over here in my notebook, but for now I need to work.” Let your critic take a break.

Add detail and narrow the focus.

For this moment in time, on what you’re creating, focus on one particular element. Find a soothing or repetitive rhythm to it. Perhaps, as a writer, you’re writing about the scene and setting the stage for the actors’ patterns. Describe the street lights in detail, from the luminescent glow in the aftermath of a rainfall, to the painted-black iron stands. Do micro-histories on the pieces. If you’re a craftsman or a technician, begin with one small piece and polish and craft that section until it’s gleaming.

Forget about the entirety of the project. At this moment, be within this moment.

Talk it out. Use your voice.

Explain your idea to someone. Use a voice recorder to explain it. Sometimes I’ll get on the phone with my parents or friends and ask them to chat about an idea for a quick minute. I’ll set a quick record on the voice memo and capture myself explaining it to people. Sometimes I set my voice memo down on the counter and start explaining to the blank walls how things work. I play back the voice memo and write down the notes. The notes on the page start to make sense, and I edit them with my writer’s eye.

Get moving.

Despite how many times we’re told to get moving, many of us never get up and stand up from our desk to take a break and move our bodies. Sitting is terrible for us, and we sit for an average of 9.3 hours a day (nearly two more hours than we spend sleeping!), causing our bodies to lapse into sedentary norms.

The best way to get myself back into flow is to shake out my body for a bit. Do a few jumping jacks. Go for a walk. Take a short jog around the block. Go for a 10-minute bike ride to pick something up. Plan afternoon or evening swims for when the day is winding down and your brain is chattering. Jump in the shower for a 10-minute dunk. Turn upside down and do a handstand against a wall in your office or living room. Stand up and do a few squats. Do a seven-minute workout.

By increasing the blood flow and circulation in our bodies, we can change our thoughts. (For more on this, read SPARK: The Revolutionary New Science of Exercise and the Brain, which looks at the mind-body connection).

Get still.

Breathe. Lay flat across the floor. Sink into child’s pose or downward dog for a few minutes. Take a darkness nap — one of my favorite tricks. Do a darkness nap by going to a very quiet place, eliminating light, and reducing all of the stimulation (close your curtains, put an eye mask on, put earplugs in) and lie flat on the floor or a bed for 7 or 8 minutes. Use a timer to let yourself sink into rest. Like a power boost on a battery, getting your body and mind very still can re-set your mental and creative engines for hours.

Notice and adjust the stimulation.

Adding movement or stillness, as above, are about adjusting and equalizing the stimulation levels in my mind and body. Many times the creative flow is stalled when I am out of sync between my mind and body. My mind is racing forwards or backwards and my body is tired of being still. When the stimulation in my mind — and all of its dissonant bits and starts and bursts of energy — are out of sync with the stimulation in my body, I check in with a quick evaluation: Which one is racing more? Am I twitching and itching in my seat and in my body? Does my mind feel overwhelmed?

Sometimes our brain needs a rest, and our body and senses need to take center stage.
– Stephanie Guimond

Like a washer’s spin that’s gone off cycle, I need to put the two links together again, apace with each other. Adding movement, adding stillness, or adding a counter stimulation (music, water flow, massage) can help ease the frustration and pull me back into balance.

Disrupt your “stuck” with movement or stillness and find a way to balance the simulation in your mind and body.

Drink water.

There’s something magical about water. Drinking a large glass of water cleanses the thoughts in my mind and refreshes my energy levels. In addition to theenormous benefits of hydration, adding water reminds me to get up more often by forcing me to use the toilet more consistently as well.

Develop patterns.

Creativity is largely about creating systems and patterns that reveal (and allow) your best self to emerge. Read any great writer’s habits — Hemingway, Stephen Pressfield’s The War of Art, Stephen King’s On Writing, Ray Bradbury’s Zen in the Art of Writing — and you’ll hear them describe their habits and routines. Some of them race to their desk for hours of uninterrupted morning writing, and others write late at night, but they all have habits and systems that help them get unstuck. The less you have to think about when or how you’re going to do what you’re going to do, and the more you do it automatically, the easier it is to do well. (For more on this, check out The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg).

Be honest.

Have an opinion. Sometimes “stuck” is part of getting angry, upset, or frustrated. You’re pissed off that the piece you wrote hasn’t been picked up yet, you’re upset that a friend treated you poorly; you’re mad at the universe for delivering blow after blow to your health. It happens. Sometimes when I try to write a chipper post and my feelings are anything but, I walk smack into a massive brick wall that says, “Nope, no way. You can’t fool me here.” The way out, fortunately or unfortunately, is often through: I need to work through each of these thoughts and feelings. That’s the heart matter of the day.

More often than not, however, these posts — these raw, vulnerable, frustrated essays that pile up — become the meat and story of future essays, pieces I surprise even myself with.

Remember that getting stuck is part of the creative process — and is often a precursor to great breakthroughs.

If you’re having trouble solving a problem or finding your way back into the flow, try any of these tips or let me know if you have your own peculiar habit that works to get back on track.

This post was originally published with Tara Gentile and Carrie Keplinger on Scoutie Girl in September 2013. 

The best of the blog: behind the scenes on organization, archives, and new reading collections for your weekend.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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“Sarah, how long does it take to build a website?”

That’s a great question. I get asked this question all the time, not surprisingly. And the answer, well–the answer is difficult to pin down.

Because it’s not just about the design, or the bones of the site–it’s about the content. And the organization of that content.

Building this site has been a labor of love.

Building this site is and has been a labor of love (and increasingly a business), and it’s taken me a very long time to do—I’ve been blogging for three years and I’ve written nearly 300 posts. The simple reason I’ve kept doing it is because I love writing. I love learning, ideas, and growth—and I learn through writing, philosophical contemplation, and grappling with ideas.

But how can you show how complex, layered, and deep a site is with a pixelated interface? The surface of a flat screen–whether a tablet, mobile device, or computer–only hints at the edges of the body of work; and often, we only notice the things that work poorly.

The length of time it takes to build a website is directly related to the amount of content that’s within the site.

And content creation is often the most difficult component. (I know: I’ve built and designed sites for people and waited months for the copy for the About and services pages to come; and I’ve done the same on projects where creating the paragraph to describe who I am and what I do takes an incredibly long time).

Adding new systems, getting organized, and site changes:

Over the past few month, I’ve been building into this site several new systems–from changing the frequency of posting to adding a newsletter and creating new sign-up forms–and I’ve also gone back and revamped and updated the archives and best of page. The complete record of all of the posts I’ve ever written (including some of the embarrassing early starts) are there.

How’d I get here? Simple. I wrote 250 essays, and I’m still showing up.

Going through all of the old content, watching my journey, looping together not-before-seen threads–let me discover new themes and do a macro-business audit. What do I continuously feel pulled to write about? What pieces were the standout pieces? Which ones surprised me? Are there areas and places I could improve the quality?

Some essays I would edit, massively. Time gave me perspective and new information. Others are poorly written (yup, happens to me all the time: the only way to get to the good stuff is to write it all out).

The benefit? I have 250 essays (well, probably 100 of those I would actually use). I can take these essays and build them into longer pieces; I can learn from them; I can build out longer documents by stringing them together, and I can start to layer complexity into future thought pieces.

So today, my treat: here’s a sampling of the best of the blog. Dig in, if you’d like. Have a cup of coffee and join me. I’ve curated what I think are the best of the blog, below. Enjoy.

On writing:

Life philosophy and the bigger picture:

Getting started, motivation:

Reminders, or how to keep going:

Making things happen–actually getting it done:

Psychology and the inner workings of the mind:

Useful tools, tricks, and tips:

Reflection, goal-setting, and tools for review:

Modest minimalist, and the art of having less:

Personal narrative and growing into your future self:

Reminders of kindness and empathy:

Swimming, running, athleticism, yoga + movement:

See the full archives or an extended list of the best-of-blog, in the menu up top or in the links. Thanks for being here.

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Are you making these email mistakes? Here’s how to fix them.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

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A few weeks ago I met up with a good friend of mine over wine and dinner and we got to talking about email–the number one form of communication we all use, and the fact that so many of us could do it a lot better. If you use email or any other digital medium, chances are you’re writing far more than you think you are–and your writing is what represents you.

Email is writing, plain and simple, and it often gets us into trouble.

Amber and I chatted about email, and what mistakes people often make, and how to fix those mistakes through better writing (and strategic thinking) to improve your professional (and personal) life. She was fascinated with the writer’s workshop, so over the course of a delicious glass of wine (or perhaps two), I shared with her nice ways that people often make mistakes in email. (To see the original essay, check out the Fast Company article featured earlier this Fall):

Here are nine common mistakes you might be making:

1. Sending emails only when you need something.

The best time to build any relationship is before you need something, not waiting until the moment you need something. A friend of mine gets into the habit of sending five thoughtful emails each Sunday night to check in with people who he likes, admires, or thinks of. An email might look like,

Hey, saw some great news about you—just wanted to say congratulations! I love watching what you’re up to through my various news feeds, and I wanted to send a note to say how much I hope you’re doing well.

It’s a great way to remember to reach out to folks you want to be in touch with, and an actionable way of practicing gratitude.

2. Forgetting that there’s a person on the other side of your email.

Just as you wouldn’t walk into a friend’s house for dinner and bark out a command, often those little niceties in the intro and end of a message can go a long way. Social cues aren’t dated constructs; they’re valuable warm-up phrases in communication. Start by saying hi, comment on someone’s latest achievements, and wish the other person well.

Hey stranger! It’s been a long time. If Facebook’s telling me the scoop, it looks like you had an eventful Spring…congrats on all of your successes!

3. Using the first person too much.

Many emails–and essays–are written exclusively in first person. Shift the focus to the recipient and consider what they want, need, or would like to hear. After writing an email, scan it quickly for how many times you use the word “I.” See if you can edit some of them out.

For example: “I’m teaching a new writer’s workshop this Spring, and I want help sharing the program. I think you’d be interested in it” (all “I” statements) can be turned into:

Hey, Leslie. A while back we chatted about ways to improve your writing skills–I wanted to reach out about this writing workshop for creatives that’s just launched. I thought you might enjoy taking a look. Let me know if this is what you were looking for.

4. Sending the email at the wrong time.

Just because you’ve written it now doesn’t mean it needs to be sent at this exact moment. Delaying the send is one of the most powerful and underutilized tools of emailing.

Evaluate whether or not the message is urgent and needs to be replied to immediately. If you’re cleaning up your inbox during your scheduled time, fire off the messages that are urgent and consider sending messages in the morning.

Scheduling emails to be sent in 24 or 48 hours gives you (and your clients) space to breathe between nonurgent projects, and it also sets up a rhythm of communication whereby your client no longer expects you to reply instantaneously. The more structure and parameter you give to the form of your messaging, the easier it is for the client to learn what to expect. You can either train someone to expect instantaneous answers at all times, or to learn the rhythm that’s best for you and your business.

Then, in the case of an emergency, if the client emails and you need to solve the problem straight away, you can send a quick message late in the evening or on a weekend. In this scenario, you become the hero to your client.

5. Sending to too many people.

More recipients in the “To” field does not mean that you’ll necessarily get more answers. In the age of digital marketing, people who blast messages in broadcast form without understanding who is in the “to” line can erode their chances of a message being opened. A perfect email is one that’s sent to exactly who it needs to go to, with a specified desired outcome.

The more specific you can be about who you ask, the better. Asking everyone in your network is bound to get you a bunch of silence in our overconnected world, or unsubscribes and un-follows across your various platforms. It’s better to ask three people who are very well equipped to answer your query than 15 people who aren’t interested at all.

The more specific you can get about who should be receiving the message, the better. One direct ask that results in a yes is better than asking 50 people who don’t respond (and spamming their inboxes).

6. Knowing nothing about the person receiving your email.

Do your homework on the recipient. One great tool to glean fast information about who you’re talking to is Rapportive, a sidebar that lets you see the latest public posts (and a picture) of the person you’re communicating to.

7. Forgetting to send updates or interim messages.

If you’re waiting for an important message from someone, the time spent waiting for a delivery can seem interminable. If there’s a long delay in sending an item that’s highly anticipated or expected, or you’ve experienced a few hiccups–send a one-liner email to update your receiver on the status of the project. You’ll know that you need to send a quick note when you start to get anxious about not delivering or they seem to be a bit flippant.

Sample copy:

Hey, Sarah. Just wanted to send a quick update about the delivery of our proposal. We’re set to get you something by next Friday, but we might be a few days early. Talk to you next week! Let me know if you have any questions in the meantime.
Hey, Sarah. I know we touched base last month and I’ve been far too slow in getting back to you. I’m still working through the pile on my plate, but I should have something in the next 2-3 weeks. Didn’t want to keep you guessing! Talk soon,

8. Making messages too long.

Depending on the nature of the message, emails can vary from a few words to thousands of words. The longer the email, the less likely that someone will read the entire thing. Long emails generally mean that a larger strategy, framework, or document might be in order. Some companies shift to using four-sentence emails and linking to longer pieces of work through Google Documents, Asana, or Basecamp (or other project management software).

9. Using email exclusively.

Efficiency does not necessarily mean one single system. Often, redundancy in communication can be extremely helpful, as each tool (video, chat, email, Skype) adds a layer of human nuance back into the correspondence that’s happening. Laura Roeder’s digital marketing team is distributed across multiple countries, and in order to stay in touch (and in concert with each other), they focus on “over-communication,” through the use of multiple tools at once.

Now: Four ways to focus on writing better emails:

  • Tell sticky stories. Everything makes more sense with an illustration. Highlight and example, illustrate an ideal customer avatar, or tell a specific instance of a problem you had. Setting the context and the stage (that seems obvious to you, the writer), makes it easier for people to understand the pain point, the context, and the reason why you’re writing. When people can see your story–who you are, where you come from, why you’re doing what you’re doing–it’s easier for them to become a part of it.
  • Use the four-sentence, one-link rule: Keep your email to under four sentences (or five!). Focus on the pain point or problem you’re solving. Limit yourself to only one link. If you have to, make that link a document.
  • Be responsive and reflective: Observe how others communicate and adapt your style to meet them midway. Customize your communication by mirroring the style of a received message. Does someone send short messages with formal addresses? Respond in style.
  • Bookmark emails that you love with Evernote. Use the vast number of emails in front of you (and in your inbox) as clues to great messaging. Watch what emails you open first and are most excited about. Create a few folders in your mailbox system for great introductions, sample short messages, and thank-you notes that you like. Keep these for future use if you’re ever in a bind. In any art, there’s no need to reinvent the wheel–and paying attention to great writers (and what we personally enjoy) is a great way to get started.

Email is our number one form of communication, which means that everyone is a writer. The most powerful thing you can do in both your personal and business life is learn how to write well and tell great stories. Messages that persuade, content that converts, and language that inspires action are critical for getting what you want.

What do you do? What hacks do you have to make email better (and more bearable) for everyone?

Are you minimalist enough? An experiment in giving up clothes for a year.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Leaning houses San Francisco

A little over a year ago, I wrote a post on Joshua Becker’s Becoming Minimalist site about giving up clothes for a year–and my experiments with minimalism, living with less, and what felt like too much pressure to whittle down my life to a certain number of items. Here’s how the experiment played out: 

Minimalist enough? Giving up (new) clothes for a year.

“We live in a world of scarcity. Which means we feel like we never have enough.” – Brené Brown

Living in a world of scarcity means that we’re constantly searching for the next thing to fill us up, the next destination or achievement to make us whole. Our world is filled with messages that tell us we don’t have enough space, enough stuff, enough clothes, enough fitness. We’re never skinny enough or pretty enough or good enough or rich enough.

This scarcity model drives consumption and accumulation; it spurs us to want more, to buy things because we think it will fill the void. We press to work harder, to get fitter, to buy more clothes, to acquire more things in the name of filling the hole.

The problem with scarcity, however, is that you can’t fill it or fix it with things.

The answer to scarcity, ironically, isn’t more. It is enough.

What you have is enough. Who you are is enough. As Danielle LaPorte says in her Fire Starter Sessions: “You already have everything you need.”

What about Minimalist Enough?

This cuts both ways, however. As a person with lots of things, and an apartment with hundreds of books, I sometimes feel like my efforts to de-clutter and reduce the number of things that surround me aren’t enough. In my efforts to reduce clutter and consider minimalist–or simplicity–as a strategy, I begin to doubt my efforts in being minimalist. And the thought begins to creep in: I’m not minimalist enough. I see someone who is minimalist and only has 100 things and the internal voice begins again, “I guess I’m not minimalist… enough.”

These attitudes are pervasive and can race around in my head. I can quickly become overwhelmed with the desire to eliminate stuff, lose weight, be better, do more, achieve….more.

But the idea of minimalism isn’t about reaching a goal, or checking off a box, or reaching a certain destination. To me, minimalism is realizing that what I already have is enough, and that adding clutter to the pile won’t make it any better. And chasing a dream of more minimalism is, ironically, not what I’m after either.

To me, as I breathe out and sigh into the life that I’m living, and find gentler ways to tweak, edit, and refine; I find that recognizing what is important and what is not is the most critical exercise.

Stripping away the excess lets us get to the bones of what really matters. Get to the heart space. Get to the pieces that are important. And that level can be different for different people.

For me, minimalism is about having exactly what you need–and the things you love–without having stuff and clutter that overwhelms your life. It’s filling up your time and space with love, not excess.

My Modest Minimalist Journey.

I spent 2011 conducting an experiment in which I decided to stop buying new clothes for the entire year. (There were two exceptions: shoes and underwear, but only as needed). For an entire year, I lived without buying anything new, on purpose. As a female in a clothes-and-image-centric society, I wanted to see what it was like to live without shopping for a while.

I was always dismayed by the number of female friends that were readily going into debt to maintain their image in public. When I thought about it, $400 outfits (the average price on any feature shopping magazine page) can add up to a lot of money if one were to wear a new outfit every day for a year. (Think about it: $400 a day for clothes is $150,000 a year just on clothes—who are we kidding?). You might think I’m joking—but to be perfectly honest, I know people who are $20,000 and $30,000 in credit card debt from clothes shopping alone. The image pressures on females (and males!) can be increasingly intense. As someone with immense graduate school debt to overcome setting off into my twenties, the thought of doubling that debt felt paralyzing. I wanted freedom, not debt.

Yet over the year, as I experimented in my journey of wearing and re-wearing the same outfits hundreds of times, I also found there were times when I got discouraged—especially when I looked around online and saw things like the Versalette by revolution apparel. I inadvertently compared myself to other people who were doing a better job at buying nothing than I was.

But then I realized: I don’t have to be the best or the most minimalist. I can be minimalist enough. Minimalism isn’t about winning, and it isn’t about a particular achievement. It’s about finding out what matters to you, and getting rid of the peripheral.

Over the course of the year, I thinned out my closet and pared down to a few favorite items. I made over twenty trips to charity with bags of clothes and gently worn shoes that I no longer needed. At one point, I had socks and underwear with holes in them, and I got out my sewing machine and fixed them up. Making old things new again was surprisingly satisfying. Getting rid of all of my extra socks—and just having a few pairs to use each day—actually made my life simpler. The process of getting rid of things reminded me of what I liked and what mattered.

Over time, I started to become acutely aware of everything that crossed the physical threshold of my front door. The amount of stuff that piled up around me on a daily basis crept into my consciousness, and I’m still surprised by the amount of clutter we let into our lives each day. Every time I brought something new in—mail, letters, books, ideas, shopping bags—I tried to make a conscious effort that the stuff I was bringing with me was valuable, and that I was also taking enough stuff out of the apartment each day to keep my space maintainable.

Untethering from the need to consume was surprisingly easy. It was the attitude change that made the most difference: looking through my things and realizing I already had enough—that I didn’t have to rush out and buy something new to fill a hole or a need—let me breathe again. It was relaxing and reassuring to know what I had was okay. What you are is already good enough.

I learned, slowly, that having excess stuff was giving me a headache, wasting my time and energy, and wasting a lot of money I wanted to focus on eliminating debt.

Even though the experiment is over, I still carry several of the themes into my current shopping habits: I buy new things that are disgusting to buy used (exercise clothes, underwear, socks, and shoes are typically new purchases); and I buy things new that are very difficult to find used (long-enough pants and long-enough jackets are two of my indulgences); but my favorite place to shop is at a thrift store with a bag of donations in hand–I’ll exchange three old things for a few new things. The smaller my closet, ironically, the happier I have been.

Over time, I will continue to whittle away at the things I don’t need in order to make space for the things I love. It turns out, all those unnecessary clothes were crowding out the space of the things I loved. I got rid of several boxes and cleared off a space for all of my books—one of my loves. Clearing out, to me, is about reducing the unnecessary clutter in your life to make space for what matters, and finding a balance that lets your soul breathe. It’s about stripping away the things you don’t need so you can focus on what’s important.

Sometimes a subtle attitude shift or a small sacrifice can make a big difference. Like taking the time to appreciate that what you already have is enough. And your effort? It’s enough.

Because stuff isn’t what matters.

What you have is enough. YOU are enough. 

To read more about minimalism and check out one of my favorite blogs, see Joshua Becker’s site, Becoming Minimalist.

The power of breath: why breathing happens before anything else.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

06_San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge in Fog

It’s not always easy to breathe.

Breathing—the intake of oxygen and the exhalation of carbon dioxide—is life’s essential force. It’s the first step our physical bodies take towards making all other actions possible, including thinking.

In swimming, the rhythm of breathing is essential: you only have a few opportunities to catch a breath; it’s about timing your intake with your arms, kicks, and rotation. Without air, you can’t work the water.

Breath happens before anything.

Out in the open water, in the waves of the ocean, with the salt water sprays and the swells that take over, sometimes I turn my face upwards and a wave slams me in the face. I close my mouth, pass by that opportunity, hold the air in my lungs, and try again on the next cycle. Sometimes it takes a few turns before I get to suck in some oxygen.

My relationship with breathing has always been tenuous: when I was eleven, I was diagnosed with asthma. I learned my lungs were restricting my airways—and it would jump on me like a sudden cold, onset in minutes, causing breathing to be painful.

I would hide my inhalers, because I didn’t want something that gave me a crutch or a reason that I couldn’t be as good as anyone else. I learned how to push my back open against a floor, to rub my lungs to clear them, and how to hold my breath to stop my body from panicking.

I also learned how to hold my breath for a really long time. Getting into the pool every day gave me an intimate familiarity with the ways my lungs worked.

Swimming actually taught me how to breathe again.

Today, three years later, I’ve become an open water swimmer, chasing longer distances with each ocean adventure I find. I will routinely be late to work or leave for long lunch hours just to spend those hours in the ocean, my friend, the place where my soul is restored.

I need to touch the water, to splash, and to feel the curve of a wave beneath my hands. I’ll grab a board, and float out to sea, heart and head against the board, listening and feeling the rhythm beneath my body. My breathing will inadvertently sync up with the ocean swells, and the anxiety of my digital, corporate life gets left ashore. I’ll get up early, earlier than the sun, wander down to the ocean, and get into the water just to tune my body back into the rhythm of the earth.

But I had to learn how.

Your breath: check in with yourself:

First, right now, as you’re sitting at the computer or staring at your screen to read this post: what does your breath pattern look like? Do you notice it? Are you breathing? Some people stop breathing while they are reading, and they raise their shoulders and hold tension in their bodies while at the computer. (A telltale sign is if you let out periodic sighs. Listen to others if you’re in a room, or set an audio-recorder on yourself for an hour. You’ll forget about it and can then listen to the breath sounds play back. It’s fascinating.)

Next, find a space to lie on the floor. Take a deep breath. Take ten slow breaths, with your eyes closed. Push the air all the way in and out of your lungs. Where are the bottoms of your lungs? Where are the tops of them? Can you fill the space entirely?

Practice changing the cadence of your breathing. Take 10 very quick micro-breaths. Feel your rib cage move in and out. Feel your heart race, your pulse jump, feel the reaction.

Breathe again, slowly.

Your breath is the foundation on top of which every other activity takes place. You can train it, just like you can train everything else. Change your body rhythms by controlling your breath.

Breathe.

sarah signature

I originally wrote this post for Julien Smith’s Homework series during the epic campaign to swim naked from Alcatraz to San Francisco. Breathe is powerful, so I’m reposting as part of this November series while I’m away in Bali. 

Bali, bliss, and a big old birthday: taking a life, work, and digital retreat.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

rice-terraces-bali_1680x1050_74061

 “Do great work, and love–that is the meaning of life.”

Bali, bliss, and a big old birthday.

It all started with a single post in February, 2010.

I had just gotten an extra job as a writer paying $10 per post, and I snapped it up. It was my side project. My writing was terrible. I was paid to give advice to new college graduates on how to navigate the corporate world, and despite being a few years into my own career, I still felt like I didn’t know what I was doing.

I started my blog–a friend set me up on a wordpress site and domain (which I didn’t quite understand). I wrote about not working too hard, how to recover from long work days, staying motivated, and allocating for food costs on measly budgets. I wrote book reviews and interviewed my professional friends in sports medicine, biotech, web design and more–to get their insights on what they’d learned on the job and how they crafted their careers.

Did I know what I was doing with the blog? Nope. No idea.

I just knew I wanted to write. So I wrote, every time I felt like I wanted to write about something.

I probably didn’t hit my stride until well after the first year, and I’m still learning. Each post, each month, and each iteration I continued to refine and hone my writing. I wandered through styles and posts and wrote about topics that felt like I should write about, but that truthfully I didn’t adore. But even though I didn’t know what to write about, I still wrote. I whittled. It got better. I adjusted. I said more about what I was thinking and feeling, less about what I thought people wanted to hear. It got better.

Fast-forward nearly four years later:

I’m celebrating. Big time.

I love (LOVE) what I do. I discovered an incredible connection with the written word, and I write as often as I can. I get to share it in community with other like-minded and incredible souls. I am blown away by the people I’ve met, and I’m so grateful to be a part of this. I celebrate through hard work, through experimentation, through hugs, and through trial-and-error. Tears and laughter are part of the process.

Because I’m celebrating a lot of things in this life right now, I’d love for you to join me in celebrating my birthday, this blog, and the community we share.

When I left my job earlier this year, I left in order to focus on a couple of things: movement (or health in my body), writing, and teaching. In the last few months, I’ve also started my own business, enrolled in yoga teacher training, launched several programs, and taken action on several dreams that had been sidelined for too long.

In order to do this, I saved for five years, paid down big piles of debt; gave up clothes shopping for a year; experimented with minimalism, sewing machines, and free-cycling; worked several side jobs, and hustled to make things work. I sold my car (finally), soaked up and swept up as much knowledge as I could, met incredible souls, friends and teachers, created new things, and built project after project.

Big, sweeping changes have happened alongside smaller, less outwardly-visible changes. Across all of this has been an emphasis on health, healing, and happiness. On mindfulness, movement, and growth.

Beyond the tactical and structural (quitting my job! signing up for yoga! moving! God, it sounds so much easier writing it!), there are also mental shifts changing, aligning, and expanding as I spend time listening and growing.

“You don’t have to be so busy,” the softer voice in my mind reminds me. “It’s okay to pause, reflect, and live inside of this quiet, vibrant stillness.” When I feel things–the sadness, the anger, the fear, the totality of being human–I spend more time resting in it, moving in it, moving through it. We work together, me and my emotions. It’s the human condition.

amber zuckswert teaching yoga in Bali

Amber Zuckswert teaching yoga in Bali.

Birthday bliss: taking a break in Bali.

In the spirit of health and healing, for my 30th birthday–and in honor of the work I’ve done over the past several years–I’m taking a digital sabbatical and sojourning to beautiful Bali paradise with Amy Rachelle and Amber Zuckswert for two weeks of meditation, yoga, reflection, and emotional healing. Bali is known as one of the most healing places in the world, and I’m joining a retreat group that’s focused on learning how to craft raw foods, heal the soul, and engage in mindfulness and meditation practices.

Nearly a decade ago, I started my career in architecture and design and I’ve been working nonstop ever since. For the last few years, I’ve been dreaming of taking a restful vacation–and yet I kept pushing it off. I promised myself that when I hit thirty, I’d take at least a few weeks to rest, recover, and recalibrate.

Beyond just a “vacation,” I’m opening up the mental space (and nooks and crannies!) for a reconsideration and reflection on what I’ve done, who I’ve become, and what I want to build. This marks the beginning of a different year in my life: one that’s less focused on being frenetic and more focused on being present. It’s time to celebrate, reflect, restore, and be fully Sarah–in the present, and in the moment.

I’ll be offline while I’m gone – completely unplugged and digitally unavailable – but in advance, I’ve written a series of essays that are coming out over the next few weeks.

In the spirit of reflection, birthdays, and changing decades:

This week I’ll transition out of the twenty-something decade and into the next decade (Holy smokes! I’m turning 30!). Last year we celebrated by raising $32,398 for charity: water for my 29th birthday, and the year before I wrote 28 in 52 notes, a years’ worth of lessons in one post.

In the spirit of letting things go, moving forward, taking care of yourself, and celebrating the year, here’s my annual birthday post–although I’m sure I’ll have a bigger round-up of notes and thoughts from unplugging in Bali. It can’t be a birthday without a bit of reflection on some of the learnings and highlights from the year. Here’s what I’ve learned (and am always learning):

Going pro, turning 30, and the biggest lessons from this year.

Place a lot of bets.

Try a lot of things. A year is a long time, and five years is a great amount of time to make more than just one thing happen. You can work a side hustle on the side of your day gig in a few minutes a day–write one page every other day and see what happens in a couple of months. Throw your work into the ring, and keep making your work. Try one connection or conference, and another. Don’t put all your money on one thing if you’re just starting. Get started, and test out a few things.

Be modular.

Build in iterative, successive capacities. Try things until something works, then adjust it so it works better. Put it out there. Keep going.

Do not work in isolation.

Seek feedback.

Ask for help.

Ask for everything. The more you ask, the more you get.

You don’t have to do what anyone else does.

You can do things no one has done before, you can be weird, you can be strange, and you can decide to do it differently than anything you’ve seen before. Be aware of the sheep mentality. Ask for exceptions. Modify the program to fit your needs. Learn about yourself, and make it better so you get better.

Take care of yourself.

You are the only one who can take care, and those small things—like going to sleep early, giving hugs, smiling, eating good food? They mean the world. Take very good care of yourself.

When you get better, the world benefits.

It’s not selfish.

The more you push, the more resistance there might be. Do it anyway.

The ego yells a lot of loud and scary things at you when you’re heading into moments of insight and brilliance. The more brilliantly you shine, the louder your ego–the voice that wants you to worry, to stay comfortable, to stay the same, to do things that feel safe–the louder it shouts. Listen to it like the dull roar of a stadium filled with fans, and not the shouty-shout voice it’s trying to be.

It really can be wonderful.

Be you.

“Be Sarah,” I write on my wall. (Thank you, Gretchen Rubin for the reminder to “Be Gretchen.”) Be you. “There’s nobody you-er than you,” says Doctor Seuss. Let yourself be you, deliciously and deliriously you. And the more YOU you are, the more wonder there is.

We all have self-doubts, demons, and critics.

And we all have stories. The person across from you is holding pain, hurt, and fear just like you are. We’ve all got something. Be kind and generous with their soul, and kind and generous with your own. Cradle your heart in the softness of the hammock of your ribs. Let it rest, fully, in the feeling of a breathe. Fill your lungs with love for you and the world around you, despite the pain.

Give up on dreams that you’ve tried on or dreams that you realize aren’t yours.

It’s not giving up if you don’t want it. For the longest time I had a dream to run a marathon by age 30–until I realized that I loved swimming, singing, dancing and yoga far, far more than running. And picturing myself at the end of a marathon just made me feel tired, not thrilled or excited. So sweep! I let that dream head on out the door. It wasn’t mine–it was just visiting. Finish it or punt. Know when to quit.

You don’t have to know how to explain yourself perfectly.

You can use as many words as you like, and you can screw up many times. It’s all fine. Start somewhere, tell a little story, and bit by bit we’ll get the picture.

Stories are how we understand and see the world.

We use stories to understand complex phenomenon and hang onto information. Watch, study, and listen carefully to the stories you’ve programmed in your brain and the stories you tell yourself about who you are. Changing the stories you tell yourself (through visualization, practice, and manifestation) can be incredibly powerful.

If it’s too big to do, make it smaller.

Seeing is an art, a study.

We’re designed to throw away most of the stimulus we receive because it’s too much to comprehend—we’re constantly simplifying things in our mind in order to understand them. The challenge of writing and of art is to learn how to see the world around us anew. If you want to learn how something works or how its made and marvel at it, try to draw it. Pull out a pen or pencil, a sheet of paper, and practice mapping the object onto the page. Rather than say that it’s impossible, or say that you’re terrible at drawing, study why you drew what you did. This is your brain schema, at work. This is the translation of space in the world into products in your hand. Keep practicing. Fix the little wiggles. Notice when you make a simple curve instead of the parabolic curves of the real thing.

Good is the enemy of the great.

(From Jim Collins): Iterate towards great, but also remember that complacency, comfort, and “good enough” are some of the most insidious enemies of making great work.

Being comfortable is not my end goal.

There’s so much joy on the other side of myriad discomforts: freedom, expression, learning, connection – many of these things can come after a bit of leaning into your edge. Yoga poses unlock freedom despite various levels of discomfort held in our joints. The payoff is expansion, self-awareness, reducing pain, and freedom. It’s worth it.

At the same time, understand when you’re pushing too hard, and when to yield to the universe.

When to soften, because the things will arrive in their good time. When to yield to grace, and move without force. Leaning into discomfort is not the same thing as pushing forcefully into all arenas.

Healing, health, and care are critical.

We all work too hard. It’s not about hustling indefinitely, although many folks hustle for decades before getting a break–it’s also about taking the time to heal yourself, help yourself, and be kind to yourself in the present moment. Health is critical. In my pursuit of projects, I’ve often sacrificed wellness in the aim to create great works. I’m softening this, and attempting to learn how to receive rest and healing even amidst the busy-ness.

And when I get back…

When I return, I’ll be hosting a micro-workshop focused on cultivating gratitude and grace in your spirit, life, and daily practices. It will begin on December 1st, and I’ll share the full details when I return. If you’re looking for inspiration to reflect, restore, and to practice more grace and gratitude in your lives, I encourage you to check back in late November for how to join the workshop. It will be delightful.

And as my birthday present:

By the time this post goes live, I’ll be curled up into a sleeping position with my jammies and my hat in an airplane heading forward in time to my destination. I’d love to hear from you while I’m gone, however, in the comments: share with me something–a gift, joy, or grace–that you’re giving to yourself of someone else this week.

How are you taking care of yourself? What gifts of grace can you give to yourself? What does healing look like for you?

With big internet hugs,

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The hidden power of doing interviews (and how to get better at them).

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

New York Building Fronts

I used to hate interviews. I stammered, I inserted words such as “like” and “um” a whole bunch, and my voice pitched up at the end of nearly every sentence.

I sounded exactly like what I was—a young 20-something female with insecurity about my ideas.

Then I started listening to the interviews and analyzing them. I paid attention to everything—from the sound of my voice, to the way it pitched up, to my breathing, looking at the construction of sentences, and trying to understand the moments when it felt like I got insecure versus when I was the strongest and most confident.

Each time, I focused on something I could improve. My voice lowered, which made me sound more confident and also feel more confident.  I slowed down. I added more breath, which built calm. I layered back in some room to giggle and rush through my words, because when I get excited I speed up—and I like that authenticity. It also occurred to me that I like doing interviews at a particular time of day—early afternoon, when I’m starting to feel very chatty and I want to talk to people. I started scheduling them for times that fit well with my brain schedule.

Getting better at interviews.

To get better at interviews, and presentations—the best way is to do them over and over again.

Grab a friend (or a video) and set yourself up with a mock interview. Chat for twenty minutes. Share your ideas. Let yourself ramble. Then, watch the tape. Ask for feedback. Where were you your best? What made you shine? What parts could improve? Work out each of the little stumbles until you feel comfortable with the sequence of changes.

Find out what makes you feel good. Set up a room, an environment, a location that you love. Maybe you scout out the person beforehand. Maybe you have your favorite cup of coffee–and your favorite glass of wine before hand. Maybe you need to warm-up to conversation with a trusted friend before you start.

Perhaps you write out ideas in advance so you have a cue sheet or you’ve done some advance thinking. I like to ask my interviewer for a general topic list and sample questions so I know what area(s) we’ll be chatting about. Sometimes I’ll write out an essay answer the night before to the questions–and while I won’t read it out loud the next day (it sounds terrible on tape, FYI), just the act of doing the thinking helps set me up for good stuff later.

Learn to love the process: self-reflection and being able to identify how to make changes is powerful.

Why I love interviews.

Now, somewhat surprisingly, I actually enjoy listening to the interviews I get to do.

Beyond the technical considerations and feedback, it becomes a place to test ideas and learn from the medium of voice. For some reason, the way I explain things out loud is different than in print—and so the spoken word becomes a place for me to learn more about my thoughts.

Listening to interviews is a chance to mine your mind for thoughts and ideas, and write out some of the ways you construct sentences, thoughts, and observations. You can pay attention to when you get excited, where you stumble, what you get frustrated or stumped by, and what comes easily to you.

A good interviewer will ask thought-provoking questions, and often I’ll stumble into a new area of ideas that I haven’t written about yet, yielding juicy content and rich ideas for future essays. I discovered that the ideas we unearthed were seeds waiting to be watered, new ideas to plant. I still love writing far more than I love interviews. I prefer to be alone, with my thoughts and ideas, sharing my brain through this pen-and-paper medium. When you read my posts and my books, you get my brain.

But interviews can be potent sources of discovery and idea generation.

This week, I was interviewed by Joel Zaslosfky over on the Value of Simple podcast. We talk about identity, how difficult it is to define yourself and what you do, the drawbacks of storytelling, and the power of addiction in both positive and negative terms. If you have a half an hour today, download it and take a listen and let me know what you think.